So Benita said: "I thank the Molimo, and accept his gift."

Then Tamas rose, and, advancing, cast the ancient, tragic thing over her
head. As it fell upon her shoulders, Benita knew that it was a chain of
destiny drawing her she knew not where, this ornament that had last been
worn by that woman, bereaved and unhappy as herself, who could find no
refuge from her sorrow except in death. Had she felt it torn from her
breast, she wondered, as she, the living Benita of to-day, felt it fall
upon her own?

The three envoys rose, bowed, and went, leaving them alone. Jacob Meyer
lifted his head as though to address her, then changed his mind and was
silent. Both the men waited for her to speak, but she would not, and in
the end it was her father who spoke first.

"What do you say, Benita?" he asked anxiously.

"I? I have nothing to say, except that I have heard a very curious
story. This priest's message is to you and Mr. Meyer, father, and must
be answered by you. What have I to do with it?"

"A great deal, I think, my dear, or so those men seemed to believe.
At any rate, I cannot go up there without you, and I will not take you
there against your wish, for it is a long way off, and a queer business.
The question is, will you go?"

She thought a space, while the two men watched her anxiously.

"Yes," she answered at length, in a quiet voice. "I will go if you wish
to go, not because I want to find treasure, but because the story and